


Savoir-Faire

by magistralucis (Solitary_Shadow)



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Alive 2007, Harder Better Faster Stronger, M/M, Robot Sex, Slash, Songfic, Whimsy, around the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/magistralucis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas/Guy-Manuel. One would never suspect what the two robots are <i>really</i> up to in that pyramid, amidst the cheering crowd and the beats of the music; but trust me, they know exactly what they're doing. [Alive 2007, ATW/HBFS. Somehow manages to be wild electronica songfic sex, whilst not.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savoir-Faire

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Daft Punk, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit from nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
> This is crossposted from Tumblr where it was the second of two smallish fics written for a friend; I've been looking over it and I guess it's good enough to warrant a posting. It was inspired by 'Technologic', another fic in this section dating from 2010, and given a new twist with just one song. Recommended listening is 'Around the World/Harder Better Faster Stronger' from Alive 2007.
> 
> This was also before I went off the deep end with philosophy. A much lighter and sweeter read. :3

Atop this pyramid it feels as if the whole world is laid out beneath them, and Thomas is utterly elated. While it’s difficult for him to show the crowd beneath them just how happy he is - it’s not as if he has the most expressive ‘face’, and both he and his partner make it a point to display nothing on their screens during a show, fearing distraction - he himself knows it, and he can communicate it through the growing intensity of the music. _Their_ movement is _his_ own joy, simply expressed in different ways.

He is loved. Both of them are loved.  
Their fans, for one, welcome their ‘new robot overlords’.

_"Around the world - a-roun-d the wor-ld - around the world-a-round the wor-ld-"_

Said overlords are also shameless exhibitionists, but nobody really picks up on that. The idea of beats, pulses and notes as something _intimate_ is alien to most people; but it’s the primary way of communication between him and Guy, and because they can actually _feel_ the music, they’ve eroticized it into a literal art form. (‘Technologic’ might as well be their equivalent of a sex manual, combined with the distorted sound of Thomas moaning towards the end.) While he’s entertaining this thought the shorter robot leans in closer to him, seemingly putting his hand over his shoulders in a friendly gesture - but Thomas knows better. Guy’s index lightly brushes over the empty port at the back of his neck, and on the lower-left corner of his screen he displays a message (in the smallest comprehensible font) meant only for his partner’s eyes.

"GOOD JOB, MY TURN SOON  
WILL BEGIN IN FOUR MEASURES  
CONTINUE UNTIL PROMPTED OTHERWISE  
YOU’RE THE BEST <33”

The message is gone almost as soon as it appeared, and in return, Thomas shivers with excitement and reaches for the first of three cables lying close by. _This_ is what the evening’s been building up to so far. This combination of their two greatest hits is actually something vastly more for _them_ rather than the crowd, and full connection has to be achieved for the maximum effect. Utilizing all of their ports would be impractical here, so they generally compromise with three cables, out of sight from the crowd. He can barely wait.

Whenever they’re fully connected, he imagines that they look more _alarming_ than content, all tangled up in cables and wires. He could explain (in elaborate detail) what about it is so sexy and wonderful, but he’s also sure that descriptions such as _'stroking port number seven'_ and _'thrusting into the USB receptacle'_ is at best nonsensical and at worst disturbing to those people. He shakes his head and hides a small chuckle.  
 _Humans._ What on earth does one make of them?

_"Work it, make it, do it, makes us…"_

Guy’s hand rests on his thigh at the ‘work it’, prompting Thomas to fall silent; he also mutes the music entirely save for the bass for a moment, the crowd’s cheers rising into the air.

_"… Harder, better, faster, stronger!"_

And slowly back up goes the volume. This being one of Guy’s rarer moments being in the spotlight, Thomas takes the utmost care to not drown him out or even turn the volume up too quickly. With the hand that isn’t on the controls he clutches the cable and plugs it into a port that’s placed on his own left thigh before swiftly jamming the other end in Guy’s right.

He can’t hear anything other than the singing from Guy’s end, but he doesn’t need to. The first connection established, a hot spark of warmth runs down his thigh, and for a brief moment he can feel the other trembling next to him, processor ramping up a gear and making a dim whirring noise, just in time for Thomas to join with the refrain of ‘Around the World’ again. Impeccable pitch and timing. Guy is pleased, he can tell.

They are both different kinds of ‘perfectionists’, in that way.  
Guy actually has no pure goal in mind when they create, considering that an impossibility - as rooted in matter they are - but takes rather the approach that there is _forever_ something to improve, that they could have _always_ done something better. Thomas himself believes that there is perfection that they can reach, and that they have already done so many times (albeit with much difficulty), at which point no further subtractions or additions have proved necessary. Those are quite distinct approaches, but from an outside point of view, they probably look equally harsh and demanding.

Well, those who’ve worked with them think that, anyway. The average interviewer or listener would never suspect that the two of them have such a sensual and intricate system of creating their songs; why, they barely even answer straightforward questions properly. For years people have asked them who’s done the vocals on certain songs, always coming up disappointed when they both shrug and flash either ‘WHO CARES?’ or ‘DOESN’T MATTER’ across their helmets.

Who cares, indeed.  
They can guess at whatever they want. It’s not as if the two of them can visibly ‘speak’ with lips and tongue like human beings can, and even if they could, that’s not saying a lot. A great deal of their sound is focused on manipulating their given voices to drastically-different pitches; for example, Guy is actually mimicking his voice _exactly_ right now, and no one else apart from themselves would be able to tell.

_Work it harder…_

Both of them know that _they’re_ the ones singing and no one else. There’s no sense in picking things apart line by line. Precision is a job between them and their music, and anything beyond that just doesn’t matter as long as what they want gets done.

And ‘ _done’_ , he always feels, is a very strong word.

_Make it better…_

_Done_ : English, past participle of verb _'to do'._  
Twenty-four definitions of ‘ _do’_ exist, including ‘ _to cause’, ‘to make’, ‘to perform’._  
Also relevant, although slang: _'to have sex with'._

_"Do it faster, makes us stronger…"_

The sound of Guy snickering rings in his head and Thomas just barely avoids blinking an exclamation mark or two. Although he avoids such an audacious slip-up, he can’t help but display a row of slashes near the edges of his screen, indicating a blush. He’s quite forgotten that he was actively sharing data between the two.  
A slight stroke of the port near the small of Thomas’s back is then accompanied by the sound of the cable clicking into place. Sound intensifies, and now the silver robot isn’t just hearing Guy’s voice in his head but is _feeling_ it with his body, each vibration and change in pitch shuddering through him, so hot and overwhelming that he almost reels back and forgets his words.

_"… more than ever, ho-ur after-"_

Guy is a caring partner, though, far more than what his appearance might suggest. Through the loud buzzing in his ears Thomas can still register the relatively-cool metal of the other’s helmet resting against his; it is both a ‘kiss’ and a wake-up call of sorts, given because they’re connected in only two places at the moment and that’s not even that many and _for the love of God, Bangalter, get a hold of yourself or you’re going to shut down_.

_”- Our work is never over!”_

_God_. What an interesting concept for two artificial beings to be contemplating.  
The taller robot takes advantage of the instrumental section to briefly reflect on said issue, hoping that it will calm him down.  
(It won’t. But it could have been worse. Once Guy stuck a flash drive in him which was loaded with the filthiest images and recordings, and managed to break his vocalizer altogether.)

Thomas doesn’t think about his creator very often, except to fondly reminiscence on the time he was first introduced to his other creation - Guy - but now he does wonder. What had the man been thinking when he gave the silver robot the relatively-uncomplicated name of ‘Thomas’, whilst giving the other a contradictory double-barrelled name? ‘Guillaume’ and ‘Emmanuel’ - _'will'_ and ‘ _of God’_ \- even shortened to ‘Guy-Manuel’, those two names are trying to reconcile two mutually exclusive ideas. God apparently isn’t fond of overt desire, and perhaps even the concept of free will altogether. To say that the two robots have any spiritual faith is nonsensical, but they’re aware of the questions raised from it or the absence of it.

Back to names. He’s never going to get his answer regarding Guy’s intended identity anyway, and it’s time for them to take the final plunge. Guy’s fingers tighten on the controls before they flex and head down to the third and last cable, the shorter robot staring resolutely ahead into the distance all the while. This one is special; it’s a Y-shaped USB 3.0 cable, thicker end already inserted into the control panel and the lesser two ends jutting out for them to connect themselves to. Guy manages his with no problem (save for a heavy shudder) before gesturing for Thomas to follow; a visible spark flies out and he tenses - _it’s not supposed to do that_ \- but thankfully his partner possesses what humans call _sang-froid._ While the taller robot is hesitating, he grabs the other’s end of the cable and traces around his port, chuckling playfully to ease his nerves before finally thrusting it in, completing the connection and throwing them headfirst into their music.

_Work it - work it - work it - work it-_

This is a duet, a call-and-response, that is both obvious to all to see and entirely private to themselves.

_Harder, harder, harder, harder!_

In the subjective phenomenon of their experience, they act entirely according to their collective will.  
In that world, they are their own God.

_Work it - work it - work it - work it-_

Guy’s low, enticingly-voiced orders and Thomas’s increasingly-breathless demands, an interplay of command and submission. Thomas is no longer getting the sense that they are in any way _separate_ ; rather, they are becoming one, mingling and melding into themselves, the beat of the music mimicking what would be the rhythm of their heart if they possessed such an organ.

_Faster, faster, faster, faster!_

The gold robot obliges. The pounding increases. It matters nothing to Thomas that they lack a human heart, what they have between them is more than enough, so in love with the world they are-

”- _Nnnh_ ,” Guy suddenly ‘cries’ out, his deep-voiced vocalization embedding itself into the final chord. With it comes such an intense rush of data that it takes all Thomas has got to mute his vocals and not shut down right there, his ‘mind’ going blank with a garbled stream of binary and memories. And he can almost _swear_ in that white-hot instant he’s displaying said images on his screen for all to see, the crowd a voyeur to their release, but there is no way he can stop now.

In reality, all anyone sees are a few jerky movements from the two of them, certainly nothing resembling any notion of sensuality. They slump over in apparent exhaustion as the music finally transitions to ‘Burnin’, quietening somewhat and giving them a small break to reconnect with the real world (as opposed to their own). Thomas glances over at the seemingly-vanquished gold robot next to him before shakily tugging out the cables one by one, patting his shoulder as a cue for him to get up, letting out a soft chirp as he actually does.

This, too, is existence.  
Thomas wouldn’t trade it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Well there you are.  
> 'Around The World/Harder Better Faster Stronger' and 'Touch It/Technologic' are some of the most homoerotic songs from Daft Punk so yeah
> 
> There is a free will/God problem introduced in the fic. Perhaps I will explore that one day.


End file.
